Fantastic Beasts
by Status-Low
Summary: Newt Scamander is the only one capable of controlling the Ukrainian Ironbellies on the Eastern front. He's not war hero, like his brother Theseus, or as imperious as his mother. He's a different kind of person, one who doesn't like other people as much as he is fascinated and in love with fantastic beasts. When the Ukrainian Ironbelly program is ended in 1918, he is repulsed by the


Dodging dragon fire came naturally after a time. Ukrainian Ironbellies were not the most difficult dragon to tame, or at least placate to the point of malleability, but given the right amount of blundering anyone could mess up the process. Anyone, being nearly every member of Newt Scamander's Beast Division on the Eastern Front. Why bother creating a special operating unit of the Beast Division specifically for the taming and militarizing dragons if you didn't bother to listen to the one person who could tame them? Tame might be the wrong word, as the whole relationship was a rather fickle give and take that required a lot of effort to maintain and was, perhaps, not as predictable as anybody might like.

Why was he the only one capable of taming them? Well, the beast division seemed to think of dragons as, at best, assets or at worst, monsters. The thought hadn't occurred to them that perhaps dragons were just beings with a brain and that if you played your cards right, you could figure out how to work with them, instead of trying to make them work for you. They hadn't even figure out yet that every Ironbelly was an individual with their own personality, their own likes and dislikes. Especially Mildred, as he'd affectionately named his favourite Ironbelly matriarch of the lot, she was partial to chin scratches and blueberries.

Newt was particularly good with magical creatures, as he was a good at listener and paid close attention, which made up for his inability to talk or interact with creatures of the human variety. At 6'1" he could have cut an imposing figure, especially a man with his kind of connections, and been more of the hero type, like his brother, Theseus or the imposing noble type like his mother, Lucille. Newt, however, was a bit hunchy, very wispy of voice and character, and had a keen eye only for creatures. In fact, his inability to communicate effectively was the bane of his teammates and often led him to trouble.

Well, if you knew anything about Newt Scamander, which everyone knows a little these days, he wasn't the least bit interested in providing the proper information to the rest of his division. Militarizing dragons was just not his cup of tea. He would rather do the opposite, truth be told, he wanted to research and get along with dragons, or at least better understand them, not militarize them or teach them tricks like a dog.

Besides, dragons weren't entirely predictable. Much like parrots, they mostly projected their behaviours, but sometimes they masked them with a frightening efficiency. That masking, which Newt preferred to call _sneaky buggers_ was especially interesting. In fact, he was in the middle of a _sneaky bugger_ when the Ironbelly he was facing (Maybel) decided to shoot into the air and roar angrily, billowing fire in all directions.

"Remarkable." Newt held a hand over his eyes to block the sun as the Ironbelly rolled in the air. "How does he fly so effortlessly with all of that weight?"

He stopped paying any mind to the dragon and whipped out his notebook and quill. The peacock feather lit into the air, a piece of paper popping up beside him.

Rounder and slower in flight than the Vipertooh or the Longhorn, the Ironbelly is nevertheless extremely dangerous—

"Watch out!" A voice yelled.

Newt looked up from the page just as the Ironbelly came crashing down into the small outpost on the edge of the range. A number of men groaned nearby. Well, there went the tea booth. That was the last building left in the area where you could sit down for a nice cuppa out of the wind.

"Ah, yes." Newt nodded.

—dangerous, capable of crushing dwellings on which it lands. The scales are metallic grey—

"Scamander!"

Newt looked up from his page once more to see his supervisor, Henry Willsby, marching in his direction. The man's moustache was twitching like a chimney sweep. He was built like someone who exercised regularly, but couldn't say no to a good pumpkin pastie or two. A barrel chested man full of meat and, to Newt, red-faced frustration.

"Why are you letting the dragons destroy the sheds?" He demanded, bits of spittle flying off his lips.

What a strange accusation. You didn't let a dragon do anything, they did was they did and that was that. He could, however, encourage them to do something else. That would require listening, however, and a certain amount of blueberries.

"You told me not to tell people what do." Newt replied, bemused.

"I said lay off your colleagues, not the dragons!" He was very close now, uncomfortably close, Newt could see the veins popping off his neck.

"Well, you see, it's up to the individual trainers to—"

"You're the trainer, Scamander!" Henry bellowed, much louder than necessary. "Tell the dragons what to do! At least stop them from destroying the buildings!"

"Sir, you're not listening—" Newt began, but Henry was already marching off in another direction, shouting at the other trainers. Newt heard him cast _Sonorous_ as he went.

Newt sighed. This part of the job was not his favourite. His colleagues simply didn't understand, they thought he was there to merely tell the dragons what to do. Most animals just didn't respond that way. They needed the proper conditions and levels of trust to be led in the right direction. In fact, he considered it less leading than asking.

"Shut it down!" Henry's voice yelled.

"You're going to upset the dragons yelling like that." Newt muttered as he looked towards the Ironbelly. "They'll be much more difficult to put away."

"Hurry up!" Henry's voice echoed.

A dragon roared. The chains tightened all around the area, kicking up dirt, throwing clumps of grass. He hated the sound of those chains. Newt looked over at Henry impatiently.

"I told you." He said as he wrangled a few dried blueberries out of his pocket, along with his wand. " _Engorgio_."

The soft, blue, pastel berries enlarged into massive, plump, squishy balls. He walked towards the dragon, his head bowed, casting small flicks of his eye towards the dragons face. The creature wasn't quite paying attention to him, he was busy roaring at the other trainers, especially Henry. When the dragon finally noticed Newt, by the flick of his slitted eye, Newt approached in an exaggerated fashion, holding one of the berries up. He turned it from side to side, so the dragon could get a full idea of what it was.

"There we are, hey, Maybel?" Newt spoke in a calming voice, keeping his tone even. "What's that? Could it be a blueberry?"

"Scamander, what are you doing?" Henry's voice bellowed and Newt froze.

The dragon's eyes widened, then turned rapidly. His chest began to fill.

"Oh no." Newt looked down at the chains, which were just beneath his feet, then at the dragon's chest.

Newt threw the blueberry with all the force and reflex he had. The blueberry flew across the plains, over the chains, and landed directly inside the giant iron-wrought cage with a splat. Maybel turned away from Henry and towards the movement. Newt dropped just before the dragon's breath released, fire and heat spewing overtop of him, billowing along the wind, across his neck.

Maybel took off, pulling a few of the chains out of the ground, flapping his enormous wings alongside his enormous body. The whole dragon fit into the cage with a resounding bang and clatter. The other trainers were upon the cage, undoing the chains and closing the dragon inside. Newt winced.

"Sorry, old fellow." He muttered and then looked to the ground. "Oh!"

A small creature was crawling just in front of Newt's foot. The thing looked like a centipede, but had a bit of magic emanating from the colours on its back. He tilted his head curiously and watched the creature move along, displaying small bits of pebble or dirt as he went.

"What are you, small one?" He kneeled down to get a closer look.

"Newt!" Henry's sonorous voice nearly burst his eardrum. "Get off the ground and help close up the dragon!"

"Sir, I—"

"No buts!" Henry yelled and shoved him from the side. "Go!"

Newt watched, sidelong, as he lost track of the small creature in the dust. There was no knowing what that creature was. He turned his attention towards the Ironbelly in the cage. Maybel was locked inside, but a few of the trainers were nervous to put the blanket overtop. Last time, Maybel had nearly burned one of their hands off. She didn't like wands. Newt didn't blame her. What good came of wands for her?

"Maybel." He spoke loudly enough for her to hear and gently enough to lull her. "I'm going to put the blanket over your cage now, alright? I'm going to pull out my wand, but I won't hurt you, I swear it."

Maybe watched him with suspicion, but didn't move. He slowly pulled out his wand as he spoke.

"Here it comes, just a wand. I won't hurt you. Just going to put the blanket over. Here we are."

He continued speaking, as the other trainers watched him with mixed looks of curiosity and disdain. With a flick of his wand the blanket tugged through the air and slowly covered the cage, alighting across the iron bars like a creeping corpse.

"Yes, just like that. That's okay. Right, Maybel? Time for bed."

The last thing he saw as the blanket covered the cage was a sleepy eye beneath the blanket.

"Nice work, Scamander." Henry clapped him on the shoulder and he flinched.

"Please don't—" Newt's shoulder's stiffened painfully.

"A nice end to the program."

"What?" Newt turned to him with shock. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the war is over, and this program has largely been a remarkable failure." Henry announced, twitching the ends of his moustache and knotting his great eyebrows. "So, it's back inside with us. Back to the Beast Division."

"What'll happen to Mayb— I mean, the Ironbellies?"

"They'll be set free again, of course." Henry shrugged. "What other use might we have of them? They're useless."

"They're not useless…" Newt frowned as Henry clapped him on the shoulder once more and walked off.

The program was over. He breathed evenly as the cold wind blew into his face, nipping at his nose. Would he have to go back to the Beast Division where their answer for every question was extermination? Of course, he never exterminated them, he merely rehomed the creatures with varying efficiency. Some he rehomed into his own apartment, of course. The whole thing was a risky business, however. The Ministry had rules about the creatures and he'd lose his job if they learned how many he was breaking. He sighed. He'd barely begun learning about the Ironbellies.

"Guess it's back to London." He muttered.

An owl swooped through the air and landed on his shoulder, to his surprise. He tried not to react too much, so he couldn't scare it. He turned and was met by the white, heart-shaped face of a barn owl.

"Hello," He greeted and the barn owl nodded, then dropped a letter into his outstretched hand. "What have you brought me?"

Dear Newt Scamander

Your presence is required at the ministry, head office of beast division. Use a floo immediately. The office of Edwin Thompson is open to you.

Sincerely,

Edwin Thompson

"Well, guess I have to go back anyways." Newt muttered and the owl gave him a small peck on the ear. "Ouch, yes, I'm sorry."

He took a small treat out of his pocket and fed the owl. The barn owl made a soft cooing sound and he smiled. With a sudden lift the owl was away. There was nothing to it. He had to go back to London. Unfortunately, the closest floo network was in that shack that Maybel crushed.

"What a bother." Newt chuckled.

#

After a short search and a flustered visit to a muggle's farmhouse nearby, Newt stepped through the floo into the office of Edwin Thompson. Or at least, his secretaries desk. She smiled up at him over her rich, brown desk with the green runner along the middle. Everything was so straightened and neat inside, he'd forgotten how much he missed the London office in comparison to the sparse accomodations in Ukraine. However, he was not excited to be back.

Her hair was done up into a massive curling pile of hair on the top of her head. The look always reminded Newt of a giant halo or a sleeping ferret.

"Ah, Mr. Newt Scamander?" She inquired and he nodded. "Very good! Mr. Thompson is waiting for you inside."

"Thank you, miss—?"

"Miss Green." She smiled and he nodded.

"Do you know what this is about, by any chance?" He spoke quickly and he hoped, discreetly, but she shook her head.

"Seemed important." She said, then pursed her lips in thought. "Looked like someone came all this way to see you."

"Well, I came all this way to see them." Newt muttered in amusement and nodded to Miss Green, then walked through the door.

"Ah! Newt Scamander! Just the man I wanted to see!" A taller man, Edwin Thompson, was standing behind the desk, his thick, curly moustache brimmed upwards. "You're famous!"

"F-f-famous?" Newt stuttered, glancing from the tall man towards the larger fellow with white hair sitting in the seat facing the desk. "What for?"

"Your work with the Ukrainian Ironbellies of course!" Edwin grinned. "You're top notch! Had all sorts of great reviews on the taming front. Sorry to see it go, that program. Can't tame a dragon after all, that's what they all said, but bully if you didn't try your best."

"Yes, of course." Newt frowned. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

The man with the white hair smiled and stood, holding out his hand. He was wearing a posh outfit, with a pinstripe waistcoat, a metal pocket watch chain, matching pinstripe pants, and an expensive looking wave in his hair.

"Mind your manners, Newt!" Edwin frowned. "That's Augustus Worme of Obscurus Books."

"Oh, I've heard of you." Newt admitted as he shook his hand. "I'm sorry, but, what does this all have to do with me? I'm sure you're a busy fellow—"

"Yes, I am." Augustus nodded. "And I came here to propose something. I've already spoken with Edwin about it and we've come to an agreement."

"I'm sorry, an agreement about what?" Newt frowned, he had the sinking feeling he was about to lose his job.

"We want you to write a book old chap!" Edwin grinned. "You're the perfect one for it. Augustus is commissioning the whole thing."

"A book?" Newt's eyes widened in surprise. "A book about what?"

"A book about magical creatures." Augustus smiled. "What say you?

"We could give you a moment to—"

"Yes!" Newt blurted and the two startled, then laughed.

"That's what I like to hear!" Edwin grinned.

Newt felt a sudden rush of joy.

"UKRAINIAN IRONBELLY

The largest breed of dragon, the Ironbelly has been know to achieve a weight of six tonnes. Rotund and slower in flight than the Vipertooth or the Longhorn, the Ironbelly is nevertheless extremely dangerous, capable of crushing dwellings on which it lands. The scales are metallic grey, the eyes deep red and the talons particularly long and vicious. Ironbellies have been subject to constant observation by the Ukrainian wizarding authorities ever since an Ironbelly carried off a (mercifully empty) sailing boat from the Black Sea in 1799."

~Newt Scamander, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_


End file.
